


Iceberg

by Aim (miaspeaksblog)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Mild Angst, POV First Person, POV of whichever twin didn't die, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Sad Ending, a DAY after the war yall, a day after, a very sad party, all the gingers are here, but a party nonetheless, but like, if you were looking for fluff, in case you didnt catch that, just throwing that out there right now cause i couldnt find a good place for it in the story, please kill me and my shit tags, there are tears though!, theres no fluff here, they are having a party, woooo, youre not in the right place
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-24 09:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7503852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaspeaksblog/pseuds/Aim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't own squat. Well, actually, I take that back. I friggin OWNED all the time I spent crying over this idea before I finally decided to write it ; u ; I love you jk rowling even though we've never met, or are related, or even pushed each other down the stairs yet for fun. Life's some tough shit.</p><p>Thank you to my lovely beta Everheart. You are amazing.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Iceberg

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own squat. Well, actually, I take that back. I friggin OWNED all the time I spent crying over this idea before I finally decided to write it ; u ; I love you jk rowling even though we've never met, or are related, or even pushed each other down the stairs yet for fun. Life's some tough shit.
> 
> Thank you to my lovely beta Everheart. You are amazing.

I felt it. The minute my brother died, I felt it. Being hit with a thousand bludgers while being crucioed simultaneously by five Dark Lords wouldn't have felt near as painful as losing him. I lost my other half.

Now, in the infirmary, I stare at my brother's lifeless face. He looks calm, as if he’s sleeping. Maybe he made a prank candy that made you look and act dead, and didn't tell me. I shake him slightly, calling out to him trying to wake him up. "Hey... Wake up! C'mon, wake up, this isn't a funny joke!" A few moments pass with no response, not even a tell-tale smirk. I shake him again harder. "Wake up, c'mon, wake up!!" I don't even realize how hard I’m shaking him until I felt arms pulling mine away from him and he flops back to the ground. "No! Let me go!! He- he needs to wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up, this is a joke and I know it so wake up!" I struggle to get away from the arms that hold my own arms captive against my chest. In the back of my mind, I realize that this is almost like a hug. I don't want comfort; comfort is for those who have lost something important to them. He’s not dead. This is just a prank he is pulling on me. I fight harder and harder to get away, but the arms are like unrelenting chains.

A wave of drowsiness washes through me. I try calling out to him again, even though my voice feels like it's been set on fire. "Wake up," I say. "Please." As I feel myself falling to sleep, I notice that there are wet spots on my twin’s shirt. Just before I succumb to the blanket of darkness, I mumble, "where's all this rain coming from?"

———

When I open my eyes again, I'm in my bed. I stretch, trying to dispel the ache sleep left behind. The night before, I had had the most rotten dream ever that my twin had died. Now, I laughed at the stupidity of it. He would never leave me this early; we've got plans, big ones at that. I roll over to tell him about my nightmare, but I find his bed empty. Huh. He must have gone down already to get some breakfast. I quickly shower, then rush downstairs to grab some breakfast. If I'm not there early enough, Ron will eat all the good stuff and leave the rest of us with salt and toast. When I reach the kitchen, however, I find that I'm the last to wake. What's more is I am met with long, drawn faces and silence. Charlie is here as well, along with Bill and Percy. I quickly try to find my twin, but he's not here either. Where is he? I start to feel nervous, cold sweat starting to form at the nape of my neck, as I observe my family's faces. My brothers all look like a house elf-goblin hybrid just told them it fancied them, whereas Ginny, Mum, and Da each have faces etched with tear-tracks. The cold sweat has reached my palms now.

"Mum, what happened?" My voice seems loud in the silent room, even though I hardly whispered. She just stares ahead as more tears come streaming down her face. This isn't good. I feel uneasy without my other half.

"Mum, where's Forge?" Ginny's breath hitches, and she buries her head in her hands. Not good. This is just like the nightmare I had. I'm starting to get mad. "If this is a prank, Forge and I will prank you back twice as hard! This isn't funny, now quit acting weird!" Charlie and Bill have started to cry. I watch as Bill and Ron separately get up and leave to sit in front of the fireplace in the next room. Charlie slips from his chair and walks to the back door, muttering something about going on a walk. Percy mumbles something about unfinished documents, and excuses himself to his room. Ginny offers no excuse. She simply leaves the table, her face swollen and red, cheeks still wet with tears. Only Mum and Da are left in the kitchen. Somewhere in all of this, a black hole slowly found its way into my stomach, steadily draining me of all hope and feeling.

It's Da who speaks to me first. His voice is strained.

"Son, sit down.” I disregard this, choosing to stand instead. “Last night, as you know, was the final battle against V-Voldemort. Your brother... Um, your brother was hit by a stray killing curse. It was quick for him; he didn't feel a thing..."

Da continues his private eulogy, I'm sure, but I don't hear it. I feel as if I’m in a lift plummeting from the 30th floor to the first floor. Da is lying. My twin and I have plans. We have a joke shop that we're gonna run until we're older than Dumbledore himself. Da must be lying. He’s lying! My eyes flicker between Da to Mum, and back again. I take a step forward, my brows furrowed as a result of an emotion halfway between anger and simply not comprehending. I open my mouth to speak, but my throat is uncomprehending of my orders. I close my mouth and swallow, never breaking eye contact with Da, and try again. It takes a few moments, but the words come out this time. My breathing is a cross between shallow and harsh. I realize that for the first time in my life, I am well and truly angry.

“You’re lying.” My voice sounds shaky and choked. “You are lying! He’s not dead, so quit lying! He’s not dead! Mum! You know Da is lying, why are you crying?? You know he’s not dead! He was here just yesterday!” My voice carries on, getting louder until I’m shouting. I don’t care. I just want my other half. I need my twin. 

Eventually, I find I have no more words left to shout, to scream, to yell. In place of the words inside me, there is a hollow and empty space where nothing exists. In place of the words that had filled the air moments ago, there is a silence that stretches on and on as time stands still. My body is frozen in place; my face is a slowly melting iceberg. I feel my face changing with my emotions. My anger melts into disbelief, then melts into a puddle. The tears are so sudden. I cannot remember the last time I cried. With my twin, I had no need to cry. I am unfamiliar with the wet, stinging heat pouring from my eyes. 

I am alone now.

———

A week later I find myself where I was a week before: sitting in our room in our flat above the joke shop, staring at my brother’s bed. 

“Blimey! It’s colder than the damn dungeons at Hogwarts in here! How are you not freezing, bud?” I don’t bother looking to see who it is, because I don’t care who it is. I don’t feel anything, so I don’t say anything. 

Whoever it is keeps talking, but I don't hear them. Eventually they get the message and they leave.

———

Later that night finds me being forced into a shower by Mum. 

“I know you’re sad! I am too! But sweet Merlin, son, you smell like something that just came out of the backside of Knockturn Alley!!” Mum scowled at me. If she was scary before, she was twice as such now. The whites of her eyes were blood red, her eyes red and puffy, her face swollen and blotchy. She practically rips my robes off of me, not caring about modesty, then shoves me into the shower and turns the water on. “Don’t you dare come out of that shower until you cleanse yourself of that stench!” she says, then slams the bathroom door behind her. A few minutes later, I hear the floo, letting me know that Mum has left. 

Which means I am left alone again. My gaze is locked with the shower tiles across from me. Here in the scalding hot water of the shower, it’s just me and my thoughts.

Hours seem to pass. I’m sitting on my bed with my knees pulled up against my chest, my arms laying limp at my sides. Which one am I? With my brother, we were Fred and George, Gred and Forge. My twin used to say, “you can’t have one without the other.” He was right in many aspects. Neither of us knew which one of us was who. Even our mother didn’t know. We solved this problem by staying together.

Without him, I don’t know which one I am. Am I Fred? Or am I George? The same questions have been cycling through my head like a carousal that plays the a piece of music on repeat. “Am I Fred? Or am I George? Am I Fred? Or am I George? Am I Fred? Or am I George?” 

With a tap of my wand, all the lights that Mum turned on hours ago are off again. I crawl under the covers of my bed, no closer to the answer than i was before, and allow sleep to take me.

**Author's Note:**

> Well. Now that's over. I had this idea in the middle of a rather important dinner meal and almost smashed a plate when my hand hit the table. I died a little due to mortification but also because I quite possibly smashed my hand in. (holy living shit this is the longest I've ever written in one single chapter) If someone decides, "hey! this could go places!" or, "hey! this would be nice for a recovery fic!" and that someone decides to be you as well, just message me or give me credit or someshit. :) xoxo, Aim.


End file.
